Through the kitchen window, I saw the pasture with its wildflower-covered hills come to light in the morning sun. If I was going to make Austin, we needed to hit the road.
“Mother, I didn’t run off this morning when I could have. I may have made some mistakes, but I’m owning up to them. And I’ve got to get to Austin.” I looked down at my boots, the dark stained edges from the wet grass. I had to trust that turning around and coming home could not have been a mistake. Goodwill had to be on my side. “The band is counting on me.”
“Hah.” Mother shook her head and carved her lemons. “I can’t believe we’ve raised you to be so gullible. Waylon Slider is going to get his little hick hiney handed to him on a really big stage.” Mother loaded handfuls of lemon wedges into a plastic bag. “And I’m going to protect you from that humiliation.”
Dad folded his arms at his waist. I’d seen him do that in baseball games when the pitcher was losing a batter and throwing junk balls instead of strikes. Settle down. Focus.
“You let people look down on you. I don’t care. I’m not ashamed of where I’m from or what I do and neither is Waylon. We’re playing our style of music, and folks can take it or leave it. It’s an under-eighteen competition. We’re actually better than you think.” My voice cracked from the fear that I was about to be stuck at home during Texapalooza, but I forced myself to stay the course. “I can explain everything to you on the way to Austin. I just really need for you, for somebody, to take me.”
Mother began placing the bags of sliced lemons and trays of cookies into a large plastic box labeled THE KITCHEN GODDESS. “Paisley Tillery.” She used both names—not a good sign. “I can’t even process all that you’ve snuck around behind my back and done. I don’t want to even think about it. And I am certainly not of a mind to take you to the end of the driveway much less a six-hour drive to Austin or anywhere else. And even if I was, which let me make clear I am not, I have a catering job today. And your sister has tryouts for a choir today. Have you even stopped to think what that means to her?” Mother’s voice grew louder and louder. “And you want us to throw away Lacey’s future—her college plans—so that you can go bang on a drum and help Waylon Slider make a fool of himself and you too?”
Dad stayed silent and kept his arms at his waist. But I had stayed calm as long as I could. My dream, my commitment to the band, everything was rolling away from me—faster and faster downhill. I had to catch it.
I pulled my sticks from my back pocket. Laid them on the table in front of her, in the big middle of all her handy catering work done for a dream Lacey didn’t even have. “My dream is important too.” I kept my hand on the sticks. “I have to get to Austin.”
Mother iced the plan. “The only thing you have to get is a grip on reality.”
I grabbed my sticks. “NO!” I looked at Dad. “Someone has to take me.”
“It isn’t about the ride, Paisley,” he said. “It’s about the blessing.”
He was right. I had wanted Mother’s blessing, her presence. I had a crazy notion that playing in a band was a stupid thing to hide, and everyone else’s family could be on board so why not mine. But not anymore. Now I just wanted, needed, to get to Austin. “I trusted that if I turned around and did the right thing, came back, you’d understand. Y’all have always said you’d support us. I’m telling you drumming in this contest is my dream. I’ve worked my butt off for it. Give me a break. Give me the same effort you give Lacey.”
Mother closed her eyes and shook her head as if I was the one being difficult. “Stop with the selfishness,” she said. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now we’ve got to focus on Lacey and the tryouts.”
I thought I’d scream. Until I heard Lacey’s voice behind me. “I’m not going to those tryouts.”
I spun around.
Lacey stepped into the kitchen in her pink pajamas, her hair pushed back in a headband. She held an envelope out to Mother. The GLAMOUR BEAUTY COLLEGE logo in the top left corner.
“Lacey, no.” I tried to stop her. Good intentions seemed to be punished in this house. I didn’t want Lacey to screw up her chances.
Mother opened the envelope. Dad moved behind her, read over her shoulder. “Beauty school?”
“Yep.” Lacey yawned. “I’m doin’ hair and makeup. I’m done with singing.” She took a Diet Coke from the fridge and popped the top. As if it were any other typical morning.
Mother handed the letter to Dad. She spoke carefully to Lacey. “You’re giving up too easily and settling for so much less than what you deserve.”
Dad pointed at the letter. “It says here you’ve been approved for financial aid.” He seemed to take that part personally. “Since when do you need financial aid?”
Lacey took a swig of her soda. She fished underneath the plastic wrap and pulled out a quarter-note cookie. “I wasn’t taking any chances.”
“Chances!” Mother took off her kitchen goddess apron, crumpled it into a wad, and threw it on a chair. “This is your future. You have no idea the chance you’re taking. Your dad and I have scrimped and saved so you girls could get an education and make a better life for yourselves. And your bright idea is to make a career standing on your feet twelve hours a day, listening to customers complain because their haircut doesn’t match the magazine picture, and nursing your hands dry and beet red from soap and water and chemicals?”
Lacey smiled. “That is so my bright idea.”
Mother stared at Lacey, then she looked me over from my drumsticks to my boots. “God help us all.”
Sunlight filled the kitchen. If I didn’t find a way to get to Austin soon, we’d be running into traffic and risk missing the show.
“Let me get this straight.” Dad still held on to the beauty college letter. “You took it upon yourself to apply for financial aid before asking me about that?”
As usual, the conversation centered on what Lacey was or was not going to do while the clock ticked away on my performance.
“I’ll still need help paying for school.” Lacey offered that as if it would make him feel better. “I want a degree in business too. So I can have my own salon one day.”
Mother pulled the platters of finger sandwiches from the refrigerator. In the morning sunlight, the purple discs under each of her eyes made her look like she’d been punched. “I’ve done all this.” Her eyes reddened. “And you knew the whole time you weren’t singing.”
Lacey had Dad’s coolness. She could sit a batter down. “I told you after the rodeo I was done singing.” Lacey snapped a cookie in half and popped a piece in her mouth. “You just hear what you want to hear.”
I rolled a drumstick through my fingers, end over end and back again. I stood it as long as I could. “I’m running out of time. If no one is taking me, can I please have the keys to drive myself?”
Mother took a deep breath and looked at Dad. “The only person going anywhere is me. I still have catering to deliver.” She snatched up one of the boxes. “You two can stay home and make up grand schemes to carry out behind our backs.”
Lacey tried to help me. “You can be mad at me, but Paisley deserves to get to play in Austin. If I was her, I’d be two hours down the road by now.”
“The only thing you two deserve is each other.” Mother threw open the kitchen door and headed for the Suburban.
I pleaded with Dad. “You know I’ve worked for this. I came back. I told the truth.”
“Sometimes you can be too late with the truth.”
“You could take me.” My heart swelled with every beat. My chest heaved. “Please.”
“Don’t ask me to go against your momma. I’ve loved her since she was your age. You two act like you’re the only ones who ever wanted anything out of life. She sacrificed her wants so that the rest of us could go after ours, and she did it while bearing the weight of her own friends and family treating her like trash, excluding her. And now you’re going to fault her for wanting better for you than what she had. For wanting people t
o respect you. Let me tell you two something. She never gave up and walked away from me when things got rough. I ain’t turnin’ my back on her now.” He picked up a box and opened the door. “You shouldn’t give up on her either. There’ll be other band shows.”
The door closed behind him.
I stood perfectly still. The water faucet over the sink dripped. Plink. Plink. Plink. “I shouldn’t have come back.” I said it to myself but Lacey was listening.
“Dumb ass.” Lacey broke another cookie. “But I texted Levi when I heard y’all in here talking. He said Waylon had a backup plan. His uncle will fill in for you.”
That burned like a hornet sting. I wasn’t surprised. I suppose I was relieved. But I was the drummer for the Waylon Slider Band. It was my job. And Waylon’s uncle was too old. The band would get to play, but they’d probably get disqualified.
I looked through the small window in the kitchen door. Mother and Dad were sitting on the bumper of the Suburban. She leaned against his arm and clutched his hand between her knees. I watched her wipe away tears with the back of her hand. The tears were probably for Lacey.
“I’m not going to Austin.”
It sounded so unreal. Even if Dad was talking to her and somehow Mother changed her mind, too much time had gone by. We’d never make it. “I’m, I’m not going to Austin,” I repeated.
I glanced through the little window in the kitchen door one last time. Dad had her wrapped in his arms. She might come around, but it was too late for me.
I’d been on my bed for over an hour, staring at the wall, playing Texapalooza over and over in my head for what seemed forever. Waylon’s uncle wouldn’t attempt the caja. They’d go for the sure thing and open with a straight snare count. He’d set the pace, probably even throughout the whole set. Could be a yawner, but Paradise on his accordion would add some interest. They’d skip the drum solo, my solo.
The door to my room opened. I didn’t roll over. I didn’t care who it was. Lacey knew better than to bother me. But from the heavy scent of sweet perfume, I knew it was Mother.
“Paisley, I’m going to deliver the catering. When I get back, we can talk about this thing, this whatever you have for playing the drums.”
She waited.
I kept my thoughts to myself.
“Don’t think I don’t care about your dreams,” she said. “If I could change things for you, I would. I’m not saying I’d approve. I’ll never allow you to hang out with a bunch of … I’m just saying I’ll dig down deep. We’ll find a way to support you and the dreams that you have.” She sounded like she was simply repeating the words Dad would’ve told her.
I pulled a pillow into my chest. The heels of my boots clicked together. I’d forgotten I even had them on. When the anger eased, I simply went cold.
“I know that playing on that stage was a really big deal to you.” Mother tapped the toe of her high heel. “Even though I don’t think you and that Slider boy have a clue that there is a process. You have to work up to doing something like playing in Austin.”
I hugged the pillow. “That’s the problem. You think there’s some hierarchy because of how folks around here treated you. And you think because we’re rural we’re somehow automatically at the bottom of the ladder. That’s not how I see the world. I’m not looking up or looking down. I’m looking forward.”
“If I’d known about this band showcase sooner, if you’d given me a chance, I would’ve given you a chance. But I can’t sprout wings and take you there.”
I sat straight up. She might not have wings, but we could still get to Austin. Mother’s heels clicked down the hallway. CLICK. Click. click.
I ran after her. “Do you mean that? If you had a chance you’d take me?”
Her eyes were swollen from all that Lacey and I had done. “I’d make sure you got to live your dream.”
34
A DREAM TAKES FLIGHT
Uncle L. V. backed his tractor up to the hangar. Dad hooked a bar behind Miss Molly Moonlight’s nosewheel. When L. V. slowly tugged her out, Miss Molly rolled into the sunlight with a promising smile. Guaranteed to please. The Prosper County countryside shined on her aluminum sides. L. V. parked her at one end of the grass runway.
He climbed down from the tractor. His shirt was missing its sleeves, and he had a do-rag and sunglasses on. He stared up at the sun. “We better set out for Austin,” he said. “She ain’t the Concorde.”
Mother, in her stilettos, carefully stepped through the grass. Her purse, which was the size of a large shopping bag, threw her balance off and she teetered. “Gosh, L. V. As much as you fly, you’d think you’d concrete a runway.”
“If you don’t hush, I’m going to put you in the gun turret.” He pointed at the clear globe on Miss Molly’s roof. “After what you did to my pasture, I’m a hair away from dropping both you and Paisley over Jessup County anyway.”
Dad smiled. He and Lacey stood by the runway as Mother, L. V., and I got ready to leave.
I hugged Dad. “I wish you could come.”
“Someone’s got to be the kitchen goddess and deliver that catering.” He grabbed Lacey and cuddled us both in a bear hug. “And Lacey is going to help me figure out what I need to do to get her school paid for.”
I stepped toward the plane.
Lacey reached up and tidied my hair. “Put on some lip gloss before you go on,” she said. “Mother’s got a purse full of product. If you get a chance, put some gel in Levi’s hair. Just a dab. He doesn’t like it goopy.”
“I will.”
“And give him a good-luck kiss, but tell him it’s from me.”
“OK, I will,” I said. Mother was going to love that.
“And Paisley”—Lacey grabbed both my hands—“don’t you let those boys outshine you.” She squeezed so hard my fingers throbbed. “You own that stage.”
I climbed into the plane and sat in the copilot seat next to L. V. I hadn’t ridden with him in a long time, but I put on the headphones and belted in as if I’d done it yesterday. It was time to fly.
Dad helped boost Mother in, and she landed on the hull where in wartime the bombs were loaded and dropped.
Uncle L. V.’s voice came through headphones. “The drop bay works, Diane.”
He flipped the master switch and the panel in front of him lit up.
The green runway stretched before us. It always seemed longer from inside the plane.
With the tip of his finger, Uncle L. V. flicked switches. When he pressed Miss Molly’s starter buttons, the propellers spun and the engines fired up. A loud BOOM and a puff of black smoke, and Miss Molly turned on with the deep, rumbling growl of a pack of Harleys.
I turned around to make sure Mother was still with us. She was buckled in and praying.
We bumped and rolled down the runway. Faster and faster. The trees in the thicket turned into one gray blur. Then I felt it. The lift. Miss Molly with the rush of wind under her belly defying gravity and soaring higher and higher.
Uncle L. V. tilted her wings and circled Dripping Springs—our little rural patch of Prosper County. Up this high and in the distance, I could see the Tucker Barn with its Texas flag roof. L. V. dipped Miss Molly low toward his pasture. The rings of tire tracks from Mother’s and Waylon’s chase scarred L. V.’s otherwise perfectly groomed clover patch. He rounded the pasture again.
“I’ll get right on that when we get back.” I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He nodded and leaned into the throttle, pushing Miss Molly to the southwest toward Austin.
Mother sat on the bomb hatch and sipped on a Diet Sprite when L. V. wasn’t looking. Flying to Austin so that I could play Texapalooza wasn’t easy on her. But she was hanging in like a champ, just like Dad said she would.
Below us, yellow patches of wildflowers cut between lush green groves and pools of water. From this high, Moon Lake curved in a perfect crescent. The day was full and bright—the perfect setting to live out a dream. Miss Molly’s engines hummed and puttered. Sh
e had her own voice. I took it all in, wanting to remember every single sound, every single vibration as we cruised in the blue sky.
I watched the landscape change through the side window and the windshield until a couple hours passed and the dome on the Texas state capitol rose out of the hill country. When we flew around the outskirts of downtown Austin, I took in the crowds of folks gathered around the convention center.
Uncle L. V.’s voice cracked in the headphones. “Stubb’s Bar-B-Que.” He pointed to a row of old brick buildings. Everybody from Willie Nelson to George Clinton played that joint.
“No bar playing.” Mother’s voice came through loud and clear.
I’d probably wait for another day to go wide-open with her about our gig at Don Caliente’s Taco Bar and Cantina.
The Texapalooza outdoor stages, three, maybe four, where the bands played—where I’d play—dotted downtown.
Uncle L. V. radioed the airport tower. “November One-Nine-Four-One Prosper County Home requesting to land.”
I played out a slap stroke on the tops of my thighs. Making sure I could still do it. I mean, I knew how to do it. I knew that. I just needed to remind myself, feel the rub and stroke. Miss Molly settled on the runway, and it was my time to take off and soar.
35
GRAVITY
The shuttle let us out next to a mime—some dude and his stringless guitar both painted chalk white. My Texapalooza welcome was a clown. A fake guitar-playing, weirdo mime. A pretender. Maybe that’s why I hated clowns. They were just madeup people trying to be something they’re not and putting on a show.
Standing on the downtown curb by the park, the hum of the festival crowd and the smell of grilled onions from a hot dog stand overloaded my senses.
For May, the air turned thick with humidity. I took off my hoodie and tied it around my waist. I cupped my hands over my mouth. Huff. Huff. Huff. Deep breaths. But the mime and the onions and my nerves knotted in my gut. What if we were all just a bunch of clowns? Including Paradise and his squeezebox.
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